Driving Home For Christmas
by Silverstar
Summary: Festive Fic 2019, in which Scott and Penelope have had too much to drink, Virgil and Gordon just want to go home, Alan's had too much sugar and John is permanently done with everything and everyone.


_ **Happy Christmas groovy people of the internet. How ya doing? It's me, Kat, complete with a dash too much alcohol - do as I say, not as I do, young humans and aliens alike - and a festive one-shot for y'all. Please help. I wrote five different pieces for this year's Christmas. Any sanity I have left is now fleeting. **_

**_ALERT - new chapters of Tomorrow Never Knows are written. The entire thing was prewritten. My beta-reader's had some health issues recently and...well, the idea of asking someone else may seem easy, but I can't do it. We're a team. God, I'm so tipsy, please ignore my ramblings. _**

**_HAPPY CHRISTMAS!_**

* * *

If you want one certain-as-hell, sure-fire, without-a-doubt way to kill the festive mood, then head out on a rescue mission which ends with five dead and ten more in hospital in critical conditions. It sucks the festive spirit out of you like a particularly enamoured leech. For a season that is so heavily focussed on hope and light, Christmas sure seems to have ended in hurt and pain a lot recently.

The rescue was doomed from the very beginning. Sometimes it didn't matter how fast you could fly – there were always going to be casualties. The only thing that could be considered a positive is that the dead had not suffered – it had been instantaneous. A tide of thick fog had descended across a highway, engulfing a road that had already been cloaked in black ice; with people taking risks to get back to their families in time for Christmas celebrations, the collision had been inevitable.

On the way out, Gordon had been playing Christmas music. Virgil had grudgingly joined in, singing to hopelessly overplayed songs and trying to keep his smile hidden. By the time they were headed back, the Thunderbird was devoid of laughter and tunes. The only sounds were the steady thrum of the engines and the occasional burst of radio chatter as Scott and John chatted on the main channel.

"What time is it?"

Gordon was speaking for the sake of hearing anything. Virgil didn't blame him. It was all too easy to get lost in your own head after rescues such as these. "About ten to midnight."

"Ha." Gordon gave a dull chuckle. It rang dead around the cockpit. "Merry Christmas."

This year was going to be good – one of the first enjoyable Christmases they'd had in years. All the extended family – Penelope, Parker, Moffie and others – were coming over and Grandma had even promised to stay out of the kitchen for the day. Their tree, albeit a little lopsided and blazing so many different colours that it was reminiscent of a pride parade (Gordon and Alan had decorated it this year without any guidance from Virgil who usually instructed the aesthetic of the whole piece), was cheerful and possibly even beautiful if you looked at it from the right angle. It certainly had character. Virgil had been going to bake Mom's traditional festive cookie recipe and John was going to come down from Five for a long weekend. Alan had queued the movies for the annual marathon. Scott was panic buying over on the mainland. Gordon was going to be doing whatever the hell it was that Gordon did – probably hanging mistletoe about the villa in the hopes that Penelope might stumble under some. It was going to be great.

Only – rescue. Now, instead of flailing tinsel at John's back and laughing when he tripped over because seriously, Johnny had issues with gravity, Gordon was curled up as small as possible in the co-pilot's chair. His boots were discarded on the floor, laces trailing in a rough lattice against Virgil's feet; for once, he wasn't going to complain.

"You okay?"

Gordon stared out of the window. His eyes were darker than usual. Outside, the clouds were dull and heavy. The stars were cloaked, free from the pain of the world below. "Sure," he finally murmured back. "But those people aren't."

Virgil eased off on the throttle. Suddenly home didn't seem quite so welcoming anymore. He got where Gordon was coming from, honest he did; they got to head back to a cosy villa with their family and too much food and an obnoxious amount of fairy lights that Alan somehow persuaded Scott into putting up, but the people they pulled from the wreckage earlier? Even the lucky ones would be incarcerated in a hospital ward for a good few weeks.

"Why this one?" Virgil queried, glancing in the reflection across the windshield to gauge Gordon's reaction. "We've had casualties before." And it was true, because try as hard as you could bear, as badly as you wanted to save everyone, sometimes there was just nothing you could do. It was fact and it had been an issue that they'd all had to accept over the years, save for maybe Alan who still had that faint naivety that there was nothing that couldn't be fixed with hope and perseverance.

Gordon breathed a sigh. His breath misted against the glass and he traced a smiley face upside down in the condensation. "Because it's Christmas, Virg. We lost Dad. Now these people…they all have families and people who care about them. Remember that first Christmas after we lost him? They have to go through that. _Kids_ are gonna have to go through that."

Virgil figured it was probably a bad time to mention that in the grand scheme of things, Gordon had technically still been a kid that first Christmas. Alan _definitely_ had been. "We can't help that. We flew in, saved who we could, and did the best we could with the clean-up." He reached across and shoved his brother's shoulder just hard enough that Gordon had to snag the dashboard to catch himself.

"What was that for?"

Virgil glanced across at him. Gordon looked vaguely irritated and behind him the smiley was dripping down the window, trailing water droplets like tears. "Stop dwelling."

"I'm not."

"You very obviously are."

"Can you blame me?"

Virgil snapped his mouth shut. The words died in his throat. "No," he admitted in a very small voice.

Gordon stretched his legs out, hovering his bare feet amongst the holograms. Virgil didn't bother with chastising him; it had been a long day.

"Okay. Humour me. What can I do?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, I said humour me. How do we make this better?"

Gordon tipped his seat back. All was silent for a good couple of minutes and for a split-second Virgil fretted that he'd gone and said the wrong thing. He was betting that he knew his brother well enough but god, sometimes even _he_ couldn't get through to Gordon. It was at moments like this that he called John. Freaky psychic brothers, man, even if John repeatedly told them that _I have a psychology degree, I'm not a psychic_. Alan reckoned there was no solid reasoning why John couldn't be both.

But then.

"You've got to do the actions," Gordon announced, grin twitching as it threatened to explode into laughter as he scrolled through his playlist. Virgil had a sneaking suspicion where this was going and when YMCA filled the Thunderbird so loud that he could feel the vibrations snaking through the control column, he was proven right.

"You're…" He searched for the appropriate adjective.

"Speechless with wonder at my glory?" Gordon cackled. "Yeah, most people are." He clapped his hands together gleefully. "Now c'mon, _actions_!"

* * *

"This puts a whole new meaning on _driving home for Christmas_," Penelope mentioned, her voice light with humour as she watched the joke dawn on Scott and his subsequent cringe into the corner of the doorframe. Up front, Parker's shoulders quivered with silent amusement.

"Please," Scott whimpered with a look of utter despair that had Penelope threatening to curl up with peals of laughter – she'd drunk far too much mulled wine tonight before Scott had cut her off and dragged her into another department store for an opinion on the gift he'd been deliberating over buying for Kayo – and the first glimmers of a smile that he quickly concealed. "Stop spending so much time around Gordon. He's a terrible influence, and I would know given I've had to put up with him for twenty years."

Penelope smacked his arm lightly. "Scott! Don't be mean."

"He's a menace," Scott muttered gravely, but his gaze was bright with both alcohol and mischief. It's a combination which should never be mixed with flying cars, but here they were – Penelope with her heels in pride of place in the front seat next to Parker, complete with a seatbelt – Scott had placed them there, but she'd added the seatbelt and they'd been hysterical with laughter for the next five minutes; it had seemed the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen for some reason – and her legs hooked over Scott's knees. Their coats were flung about the footwells and with each jolt that every unavoidable air-pocket brought them, they rustled against the multitude of bags that Scott had collected throughout the evening.

"I think," Penelope announced as seriously as she could manage, "that you've done very well to complete the entirety of your Christmas shopping in one evening."

Scott tipped his head back so far that he actually smacked the back of his skull against the window. He looked so shocked, blinking owlishly before groaning and rubbing his head so that his hair stuck on end as if he'd been electrocuted, that Penelope burst out laughing again.

"Oh my _god_," she spluttered in a _very_ ladylike manner thank-you-very-much, "you are an actual disaster."

"Mm'ugh," Scott mumbled as way of a reply. "Stop judging me."

"Me? Judging you? _Never_."

"This is bullying." He cleared his throat. "Ahem. _PARKER!"_

The car lurched sideways as Parker startled. "Good 'eavens, Mister Scott," Parker muttered, evidently regretting letting the two of them loose on London streets together a few hours previously. "Whatever's the matter?"

"Penelope is bullying me. It's not very ladylike behaviour." Penelope jabbed her elbow into his ribs, right in the spot where she knew fully well that he was ticklish and he yelped, wriggling and squirming to free himself from her _evil_ clutches. "Penny! This is what I'm talking about!" He huffed, and shoved her feet off his lap until she pouted, and he gave in. "I'm calling John."

"Fine."

"_Fine_."

"I don't care."

"Whatever." Scott fumbled at the hologram projector and whined when it didn't immediately spring into life, which only set Penelope off into giggles again. She listed sideways, mushing her face into his shoulder. He was wearing a jumper so soft that she wondered whether it was the cashmere she'd bought for him the year previous; she couldn't quite remember. All her memories seemed jumbled and blurred like champagne in the spotlights. "John!"

John's hologram looked as done as a small blue avatar could. "You two are drunk," he noted within a second. "Oh God." As the one who had survived college – and all the parties and other such social events that the aforementioned stage of life entails – with Penelope and was normally the designated sober friend after that one incident involving hot tubs, tequila and too much trauma for one lifetime, he was all too used to noticing the signs. He palmed his forehead and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. "Why are you drunk?"

"We're not _drunk_," Scott scoffed, with a soppy grin on his face. His cheeks were flushed red with laughter and drink. Penelope reached up to bop him on the nose, missed, and instead prodded his forehead. "She is, though."

"You are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Wow," John interjected. "It's like watching a pair of children squabbling." He paused, concentrating on replying to Thunderbird Two's permission to land, then returned his attention to the two troublemakers in front of him. "I thought you were shopping in London?"

"And we _did_," Penelope told him sternly, then giggled. "But we had a couple of drinks too."

"Mulled wine to begin with, because there were free samples and we had about ten," Scott continued the story with a grin and as much enthusiasm as to rival Gordon. John couldn't help but smile. It was all too rare to see his brother in such a state. Scott needed to relax and let loose more often. Penelope had a knack for coaxing people out of their shells; John himself was a prime example of this. "But then we stopped for refresh…fresh…mmm…" He frowned. "Wait, I got it! Refreshments!"

"Take your time," Parker quipped from the front seat, guiding FAB1 into an easy descent. The clouds whipped past outside like royal icing, tinged lilac from the fading dusk. Penelope rested her chin on Scott's shoulder and stared out at it.

"Pretty," she whispered.

"Me?" Scott teased her gently.

"No." She shook her head vigorously. "Gordon."

"But me too?"

"Yes Scott Tracy, alright, you're pretty too."

"Aww." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Thanks Lady P."

John, still watching them with fond exasperation, switched the mic to the front of the car. Parker looked faintly relieved to have someone with still remaining sanity to talk to. "We're 'bout ten minutes out."

"FAB Parker." It showed just how used John was to his best friend and his brother's antics that he didn't questioned the high heels safely tucked under a seatbelt. "Hey," he questioned quietly to avoid disturbing the two passengers who were slowly slipping into slumber, "they do realise they've still got to wrap all those presents, right?"

Parker shook his head in despair. "We'll be 'ome for Christmas Mister John. What 'appens after that is down to them."

* * *

"Knock, knock, Santa's calling!"

John activated the airlock and glared down at his youngest brother. "This isn't a chimney."

Alan pouted and pulled out the big guns – puppy-dog eyes were go. "But Johnny," he whined, gesturing to his uniform as he padded into the satellite after his brother, "look! I've got the red sash and everything."

It was best to ignore Alan on Christmas Eve. He was as excitable as the puppy whose eyes he was mimicking and had the energy to match. It seemed that despite outgrowing the Santa Claus phase, the magic of Christmas had never been lost for him. It was nice. Cute, even, but John was still partially convinced that his brother had a secret stash of extra strong eggnog somewhere on board Thunderbird 3 because this was a bit much even for him. No, really. Alan was bounding around Five singing Jingle Bell Rock at the top of his lungs.

"EOS," John whispered, "make him stop."

His AI, being the traitorous, devious little so-and-so that she was, merely giggled, and activated the music to match. Somehow, John realised amidst the chaos – was that _glitter? _Alan, where did you get _glitter_? Get away from there! And there too! – this year Gordon was one of the normal ones. Now Virgil you could always count on, but _Gordon_?

"Alan, I said I was going to take the Space Elevator down."

Alan paused. He was upside down and part of the way through singing – ahem, caterwauling – Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer at EOS's camera. This was, of course, perfectly normal behaviour for a seventeen-year-old boy who flew a rocket most days. Honestly, John despaired.

"I know," Alan admitted, flipping the right way up and slowly floating back towards the airlock where John had left his bags for the trip down dirtside anyway, in preparation for the Space Elevator docking. There was a suspicious lack of presents among this collection; John was desperately hoping that Penelope had held up her end of their agreement – she was supposed to have brought the items he'd ordered to Tracy Island from the UK. Frankly, at this point he was more concerned about Scott having _crushed_ one of them.

"So why are you here?"

"Rude."

"Alan. I'm still on duty."

"For like five minutes, then you're a _free elf_!"

See? Insane. They hadn't even started on the heavily sugared cookies yet.

"I…okay. Let's go."

"Wait." Alan stared at him with wide eyes and such pure hope in his face that John felt like the bad guy. It wasn't a good feeling. "Seriously? You'll come home with me? Right now?"

"Yes to all of those questions."

And _bam_. Here came the spider-monkey. Alan was clinging onto him with more force than strictly necessary; the kid definitely didn't know his own strength. John tangled a hand in Alan's hair until his brother ducked away, yelping in protest amidst helpless laughter. It didn't take long to pile his bags into Thunderbird 3 and as they were in no hurry, John took the chance to change into his casual clothes _before_ hitting the hell zone that was gravity.

Earth always looked beautiful from space, but there was something truly magical about it during the holiday season. There was no visual, physical reason for it, but looking down and knowing there were so many people putting up lights and making an extra effort to be kind to one another – look, John avoided people to the point where it wasn't always healthy, but he really kinda maybe sort of loved them.

Alan was smiling at him. It was that soft, real smile that he reserved for the vulnerable, secret moments that crept between the cracks of the world and the promise of space. "Coming home for Christmas this year then? That makes a change."

"Oh, shut it."

"Hey, I didn't say anything."

"Sure you didn't, sprout."

Alan gaped at the old nickname. "Whatever, _dork_."

* * *

Brains rarely left the island. There was technically no reason for him to feel as though he had to travel home for Christmas, but there _was_ something special about watching the lights of the individual crafts carrying his family descending from the clouds. Grandma Tracy was stood at his shoulder, trying to adjust the star on that ridiculous tree Gordon and Alan were so proud of.

"One minute until Christmas Day," she reported. There was a distant rumble as Thunderbird Two landed and braked to glide leisurely into the hanger. When Brains headed out onto the patio to evade Grandma's increasingly vigorous attempts to right the Christmas tree, Three's lights were slicing through the gloom like an avenging angel of their very own. He settled down on the edge of one of the loungers to watch.

"Hey." Virgil was still dressed in his flight-suit, but it was unzipped down to his waist to reveal a t-shirt covered in dinosaurs wearing Santa-hats. Brains raised a brow in query and his friend chuckled. "A Gordon special."

"Ah." Brains didn't bother to hide his mirth. "Obviously. I-it's a classic."

Gordon stuck his head over the balcony above, his hair dark with shower water, but his voice echoing about the island as he shouted, "are you complimenting my fashion skills?"

"Never! Now get back in the shower, you stink!" Virgil yelled back, looping arm around Brains's shoulders as the scientist stepped closer to him. It was good to have backup when you were about to offend one of the Terrible Two; a prank could come at any moment, without warning.

"Love you too bro!"

"I am never singing YMCA with you again!"

Gordon gave an outraged gasp but disappeared back into his room. A moment later there was a shriek of horror, and then, "_Kayo_! I'm the only prankster here! How dare you?"

Virgil was quietly laughing. Brains wasn't quite sure when he'd reached this point – this moment when he helped to save the world with his amazing, bizarre family – but each year, he couldn't help but marvel at it. He suspected Virgil knew. _Of_ _course_ Virgil knew. John wasn't the only perceptive one in the family.

"Hey." Virgil pointed to his watch. "Merry Christmas."

Brains hummed, observing the final sparkles of light fade entirely from the sky. "Merry Christmas."

Peace remained for a good three minutes longer, at which point Scott went sailing into the pool. Virgil watched with amused resignation as Alan went careering in too.

"I'm n-not going to ask," Brains commented.

"Uh huh. Probably best." Virgil offered him a hand up. "Cookies?"

Now _there _was a Christmas tradition. "Cookies."

* * *

_**Hey, hey, hey. Guess what? I'll see you...NEXT DECADE! That's insane. And scary. Like, a lot scary. I am not ready for 2020. **_

_**Leave a review, my favourite little elves? **_

_**Merry Christmas!**_

_**Kat x.**_


End file.
